The Kids Are All Right, and Schmucks

By Dan Cohen, Santa Monica Reporter

The mediocre performance of several would be blockbusters has made room at the multiplexes for two sharply observed indies, “Cyrus, “and “The Kids Are All Right.”  And while part of this can be attributed to the influence of powerful parent companies, in these cases the specialty wings of Fox and Universal, any win for a good film is a win for smart audiences.

“Cyrus,” has done less well than “The Kids Are All Right,” which has so far grossed four times its very modest budget.  Why this is so, when “Cyrus,” a comedy fueled by Jonah Hill, Marisa Tomei,  and John C. Reilly, is every bit as entertaining as “Kids,” with an even bigger triumvirate;  Annette Benning, Jullianne Moore, and Mark Ruffalo, is anybody’s guess, although star power and the particular niche the latter occupies may have a little to do with it.  For now I’ll focus on “Kids,” since it continues to play locally.

Nic and Jules, (Annette Benning and Julianne Moore,) are just like parents in any other middle class movie family, with one exception; they’re both women.  Their two likable kids, Joni and Laser, are the product of artificial insemination.  Luckily for the story, both came from the same sperm donor.

In the opening sequence, the “moms,” as their kids refer to them, appear as adept at handling adolescent issues as their heterosexual peers. Loving, protective and open minded, they’re engaged in as much of their kids’ growing pains as they’re shown.  The trouble starts when Laser, their 15 year old son, enlists his 18 year old sister to run down their biological dad… without consulting his parents.

Turns out that Paul, (Mark Ruffalo,) a free spirited restaurateur, comes along at exactly the moment the family is most vulnerable to an outsiders influence.  Paul, who functions as a kind of catalyst for both new and longstanding issues, causes a psychological chain reaction that mines all of them.

Most of the movie is comic.  There’s a fair amount of frisky sex, the most graphic of which is heterosexual, thus limiting the squirm factor for most straight viewers. The complications, at least on the surface, are as old as Moliere.  But Cholodenko’s humorous and sympathetic take is fresh.  And while she stays true to the characters and their gay identities, she’s eager to point out that beyond sexual preference, this family is pretty much like any other nuclear outfit on the block.

There are a half dozen deeply funny moments. One, that will stay in my memory, involves the two moms trying to tell why they keep male porno in a bedroom drawer to their son.  The explanation, and the way it’s delivered, is priceless.  A slow burning attraction between one of the mom’s and the earthy interloper is comic and poignant in equal measure.  These small scenes finally amount to more than their collected parts.

The acting is uniformly excellent.  Annette Benning, given the most complicated part, plays it without flinching from its rough edges. She’ll have to receive some kind of award consideration. Mark Ruffalo, once again proves to be one of our most versatile male leads.

Mia Wasikowska, yet another young Australian who effortlessly disguises her roots, has an open face and low key charm.  Earlier this year she was a convincing Alice in Tim Burton’s messy Lewis Carroll adaptation.  She will probably continue to win roles coveted by scads of American actresses.  Josh Hutcherson, who has virtually grown up on TV, shows a brooding intelligence beneath his good looks. And Julianne Moore is eagerly following in Meryl Streeps’ footsteps.

Cholodenko, who has directed dramatic material with confidence in the past, (“High Art,”) here proves that she can balance a host of elements without losing control of any. This is a seriously good movie.

Dinner With Schmucks

If you’ve resisted “Dinner With Schmucks” up to this point, keep up the good work.

There’s fifteen minutes of inspired comedy in Jay Roach’s labored and overlong adaptation of “The Dinner Game,” Francis Veber’s giddy French farce from 1998.  Unfortunately the other hour and half is punishment.  Halfway through I counted a dozen lit cell phones among the mainly young crowd in the theater where I sat, stewing.  Warning their friends?  I hope so.

Apparently Veber, who has been writing and directing successful comedies since the 70s, (“La Cage Aux Folles,” “The Toy,” many others) did not have enough influence to keep the worst instincts of others from defiling his original. Why didn’t they let him direct?

The shame is that Steve Carrel and Paul Rudd are capable of so much better. Here they’ve either been given a free reign to fill in the gaping holes in shoddily written material.  Much was made in the movie’s PR, how after so many rewrites, the producers went about shooting a script that left so much room for actors to improvise.  Well, it’s one thing when the Monty Python crew embellishes strong ideas, and another when Carell, Rudd, and their accomplices are handed a nearly blank canvas and let go with buckets of finger paint.

There are moments, mostly early on when the film is sharp and funny, mainly in the set up, which is promising. And Carell and Rudd have a nice chemistry. But others with much less ability to fill blank space have been invited to indulge themselves, to ill effect.  Zach Galifanakis does a painful imitation of Nathan Lane. Lucy Punch quickly wears out her welcome as an oversexed stalker. The rest have been edited down to minor offenses.

I firmly believe that those that wrote well of this mess will look back in regret.